


Beware of Dog

by salakavala



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Holiday Exchange 2016, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salakavala/pseuds/salakavala
Summary: Bull gets a mabari. Dorian pointedly disapproves.At first.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HubbaBubbaGumPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HubbaBubbaGumPop/gifts).



> This is my fill for Adoribull Holiday Exchange 2016. The prompt was "Dorian and Bull spending time with their kid(s) and pets.", and I chose the 'pet' aspect. Happy Holidays, and I hope you'll like this!

Bull has a mabari.

Dorian discovers this when, come night, he slips through the Bull's door, already anticipating how Bull will raise his eyes from the report he'll be writing of his Chargers' mission in Orlais, and how his lips will stretch into a slow smile bordering a smirk when he sees Dorian. Then some fantastic reunion sex will follow, and, ideally, Dorian will be so worn out by the end of it that he'd have a perfectly believable excuse to stay the night without it being obvious that he, actually, simply wants to.

Instead, when Dorian opens Bull's door, he has barely moments to register a quickly approaching _thump thump thump_ before something big and heavy slams into his stomach with enough force to knock him through the door back to the battlements. By some miracle (or innate and well practised grace) Dorian manages to stay on his feet, and, electricity instinctively on his fingertips, he looks down.

He needn't look _much_ down; a full-grown mabari has its front paws propped on Dorian's stomach, its nose nearly in his face.

More specifically: a full-grown mabari has its _muddy paws_ propped on Dorian's _white robes_.

Dorian raises his eyes from the loudly panting dog-face to see Bull grinning at him from his room like a ten-year-old rascal. “Dragonbane,” Bull says, “Back.”

The beast slips off Dorian's robes and gallops to Bull, who laughs and scratches behind its ears. “Good boy!”

Dorian regards his dirtied robes with regret, and turns his silent, appropriately accusing look at Bull. “Dragonbane?” he asks with the tone of careful indifference that best carries his voluminous displeasure. It really is his favourite set of robes, and he chose to wear it with particular intentions that may or may not have something to do with Bull's obvious appreciation for the set in question. He most certainly did not choose to wear them so that some dog could smear dirt all over them.

“Yeah,” Bull says and pats the beast behind its ears.

“I may be jumping to conclusions here, but please don't tell me you've decided to adopt a dog.” Dorian casts a glare at the mabari. It stares up at Bull with unclouded adoration, and the look Bull's giving it back is of the same kind. “Don't you have enough to look after in your Chargers?”

“Wasn't in my plans to take this guy along,” Bull replies, and if Dorian had to describe his tone, he would have called it a little sheepish, of all things – something that Dorian has never heard from Bull before. “But he seemed to become attached to me. He's a smart guy, understands what you say to him. And you should've seen how he fights! A wyvern attacked us on the way back from Orlais, and this guy's growl gave a pause to the damn thing.” Bull laughs, and he looks so utterly delighted and proud of the dog that Dorian feels a twist of bloody _jealousy._ Jealousy! Over a dog! This, he thinks, is the true rock bottom of House Pavus; his ancestors might have quite possibly died in their graves a little more.

“Indeed,” he utters.

The beast turns to look at Dorian from where it's sprawled at Bull's feet, evidently not at all ashamed of the dirt on Dorian's robes or the fact that it has somewhat disrupted the mage's plans. It's one thing to slip into Bull's room and smirk a little and make a couple of remarks that lead to Bull's hands all over him and no need at all to talk or ask for anything. It's quite another thing entirely to try to find a way to say _Hello, I missed you, so could_ _you_ _be so kind as to kick your new pet out of the room, so that the only one for you to look at with such delight would be_ me.

“Well then,” says Dorian. “Dragonbane. Is it now going to live in the foot of your bed and charge at every nightly guest you have?” Not that Bull has entertained many nightly guests aside Dorian in the recent weeks, at least to Dorian's knowledge, but it's safer not to presume anything.

There is a glint in Bull's eye when he looks at him. “Don't worry, big guy. There's plenty of room in my bed for you, even with the dog.”

“Even with the dog,” Dorian repeats dryly. “What a marvellous idea. Wouldn't it be wonderful to sleep in sheets that look like my filthy robes now?”

“Is it sleeping that you're planning?” Bull asks, and grins.

“I don't plan to be in the same bed with a dog at all,” Dorian snaps and crosses his arms. “I'll have you know this is my finest set of robes.”

“Aww,” says Bull, and slowly walks over to Dorian. “And you put them on for me?”

“You are missing the point.”

Bull puts his large palms on each side of Dorian's waist, and truly, he's wearing the smile that turned out to be Dorian's undoing since the very beginning of their affair. “Don't worry, big guy,” he says, voice low. “I'll teach Dragonbane not to jump at you. And if you don't like to wear dirty robes, I can help you to get out of them.”

It's always a challenge to remain sour in Bull's immediate proximity, and his ancestors be damned, but Dorian _has_ missed Bull. He places his own hands on the broad chest and lifts his face up. “If that is the case...”

“Woof,” says the dog.

Dorian looks down. The mabari has trotted to sit by Bull's feet, and meets Dorian's glare with a seemingly innocent stare, tongue hanging out of its jaws, short tail wagging ridiculously.

“Well,” says Dorian.

The beast tilts its head. Dorian drops his hands from Bull's chest. “A smart guy, you said?” he more says than asks. Smart or not, the beast is more audience than Dorian would prefer for most displays of intimacy, particularly of the kind he has in mind for the evening. Besides, the loud dog-panting is something of a turn-off, in Dorian's so very humble opinion, and he states as much aloud.

Bull laughs in an oddly soft way. “Hold on a moment,” he says. “Krem's pretty good at watching him.”

xXx

It's not that Dorian dislikes animals, dogs or not. He doesn't. In fact he neutrally quite likes them, and likes the idea of a loyal friend who never abandons one's side.

But that's on the abstract level. In reality, the 'never abandons one's side' part turns out to be rather tiresome at length.

Dragonbane turns out to be loyal to Bull in the most literal sense of the word. It doesn't leave Bull's side on the training yard any more than in the tavern, and even Cabot, instead of driving the beast out, only gives it treats whenever one of the Chargers buys a drink. The Chargers, naturally, adore their new brother to bits, with the exception of Stitches (for which Dorian likes the man all the more), and the only reason why Dragonbane isn't following Bull to the field is that Cadash is apparently allergic to dogs.

So when Bull _is_ in the Hinterlands or Crestwood or wherever it is that duty takes Cadash, Dragonbane sits by Bull's door and looks absolutely miserable. Dorian has never before even considered that a dog _could_ look miserable, but he is very much forced to start considering it now that he sees Krem leading the beast out of the tavern's door. Dragonbane hangs its head, and when it looks up at Krem, its eyes look like two moist portals into emptiness.

Dorian stops on his way to the main hall and hesitates. Krem is trying to engage the dog in a game of throw-and-fetch, and while Dragonbane obediently does retrieve the thrown stick, there is no such joy in it that Dorian associates with dogs. It looks rather pathetic.

Krem notices him and nods in acknowledgement, and Dorian takes that as a sign to approach them. Dragonbane, instead of the happy barking that Dorian usually has to endure, only looks at him and drags its bulk to fetch the stick Krem's tossed across the yard. Dorian watches as it goes. “What a pitiful sight,” he remarks.

“He misses the Chief,” Krem says, needlessly.

“That much is clear.”

In spite of all the time Dorian's begun to spend with Bull and, inevitably, with the Chargers, there isn't a great number of things he feels comfortable discussing with Krem, so he doesn't add anything, and Krem doesn't bother filling the silence, either. When Dragonbane returns with the stick, he kneels to scratch the dog behind its ears.

“Good boy,” he says with the same sincere warmth that Bull has when he speaks to the beast. Dorian wonders if Krem himself is aware of the soft tone of his voice.

“So,” he says. “Need I ask who came up with the name _Dragonbane_?”

Krem actually looks a little embarrassed at that. “Technically, I did.”

Dorian lifts his brows in mock surprise. “Why, Cremisius, I had no idea you share your captain's draconic passions.”

Krem looks at him sourly – he doesn't much seem to like Dorian calling him by his full name, but there is no way of Dorian calling Krem _Krem_ to his face, yet. “Would you rather go around Skyhold calling him the Dawnstone Dragon?” Krem snaps.

Dorian groans, and the sourness eases from Krem's face. He grins. “That's not even the worst of it. Initially the Chief wanted to name him _Bull_ dog.”

“Credit where credit is due,” Dorian says and executes a small bow to Krem. “I can see why you're his second. Someone has to keep the great oaf in line.”

Dragonbane gives a bark and looks up at them, its tongue hanging out of its jaws as usual. If Dorian uses his imagination a little, it looks marginally less miserable than a moment ago, which is ridiculous.

“It must understand what service you did to it,” he says nonetheless.

“Mabaris are a smart breed,” Krem simply answers.

“So I'm continuously being told.” Dorian sighs and warily extends his hand to pat the dog on the head. Its hairs are softer than he expected, and very short. It's a curious feeling, petting a dog, and it's a little startling to realise that Dorian has, in fact, never pet a dog in his life before. His family or the Circles never kept dogs – dogs aren't popular pets among the alti, too ordinary for finer tastes – and it wouldn't even enter Dorian's mind to touch any filthy stray dogs on the streets. Dragonbane is not exactly filthy, though – the Chargers are taking care of that – and when the beast looks up into Dorian's eyes, he gets a silly feeling that maybe it _does_ understand him, to some extent. He withdraws his hand and arches his eyebrow at the dog. “If you really were as smart as people say,” he says, ignoring Krem's amused face, “you would understand that Bull will be back in due time. I'm sure it won't take all that many days at all.”

Dragonbane looks up at him and gives another bark, and this time Dorian is certain that it looks somewhat happier than before.

For some reason, he feels embarrassed about it.

xXx

It's a bright, crispy afternoon when Dorian finally hauls himself out of the Skyhold's dusty library – the one near the dungeons, not the comfortable nook in the main keep – and into the fresh air, and finds the Iron Bull spreading paint, of all things, on Dragonbane's back in the courtyard. Dorian's feet take him to them quite on their own accord.

“What,” asks he, “are you doing.”

Bull is sitting cross-legged on the ground, paintbrush in his hand, with Dragonbane lying obediently on its belly in front of him. When he sees Dorian he grins up at him. “Hey, Dorian.”

There's an opened jar of some sort of dark paint beside him. Dorian peers at it. “I do hope that's not vitaar you're putting on the dog,” he says dryly. Bull laughs, his familiar, deep rumble. The sound of it has taken quite a persistent habit of spreading something warm and distracting inside Dorian's chest, lately.

“No,” Bull answers him, drawing another brush-stroke across Dragonbane's back. “It's kaddis. Did you know Fereldans cover their mabaris with war paint? Like vitaar.”

Dorian did not know. Apparently, neither did Bull before that, because his smile is nothing short of elated as he spreads the paint over his beloved beast. Dorian would even say that it's adorable, how fondly he handles the dog and how it responds in kind, if the word adorable wasn't quite possibly the least fitting word for a huge, horned qunari and an enormous overgrown beast of a dog.

“Heard it from Dennet,” Bull continues and finishes his work. “Aw, look at him. All fearless and ready to fight. This guy would have made a good qunari warrior.”

“Yes, I can see the resemblance. Big, splattered with paint, likes killing things ten times its size. Only the eye-patch is missing.”

Bull laughs, deep and loud, and Dorian feels pleased with himself, as he always does when he makes the great lummox laugh. Granted, amusing Bull is not a huge achievement in itself, but Dorian likes to be the source of his mirth.

Dragonbane gives a happy bark and drools on Dorian's boots.

xXx

When Dorian and the Inquisitor return to Skyhold from Redcliffe, Dorian immediately sets off for his room.

“Dorian,” Cadash begins, but Dorian merely waves a hand at her. “Later,” he says, though it comes off more like a plead. He must indeed look as weary as he feels, because Cadash nods and lets him go. They didn't talk much on their way back, and Dorian knows that there will be a conversation about what happened in the Redcliffe tavern, but not just yet – later. Later. Right now, a conversation is not something he thinks he can quite handle.

The Iron Bull is in the training yard with his Chargers and with his dog, and Dorian sees him raising a hand in a greeting as he climbs up the stairs to the keep. Dorian returns the gesture, but doesn't linger. He is tired, so very tired, and were he to appear in his room behind a closed door this very instant, it wouldn't be soon enough. When he finally gets to lock his door behind him, he nearly sags with relief; no prying eyes, no straining ears, no undoubtedly well-meaning but nonetheless wearing friends. Just him, and the shadow of his father sitting tight behind his ribs.

There is a scraping sound behind his door, followed by a low whine. Dorian ignores it, but the whine repeats again, and then something definitely claws at his door, so he pushes himself from the window he's been leaning against and opens the door.

It's Dragonbane, of course. The dog sits at the threshold of Dorian's room and looks up into his eyes when he opens the door, and looks just as pitiful and miserable as when Bull was away in the Hinterlands with the Inquisitor. Only now the misery is not its own – it's Dorian's, and yet the mabari whines quietly, as if it felt every drop of hurt in Dorian's veins.

“What are you doing here?” Dorian asks the dog. “Did Bull send you?”

It doesn't answer, which shouldn't be a surprise but for some reason _is_ , and continues to stare at Dorian, earnestly, as if to indicate that it's here on its own volition.

“Shoo,” Dorian says. “Run along now.”

Dragonbane doesn't budge. Instead it raises its front paw and softly lowers it on Dorian's foot, all the while keeping its eyes on the mage and whining almost… almost sympathetically.

Andraste preserve him, but Dorian really is starting to believe that the mabari is trying to comfort him.

“Oh.” He sighs, and it's a mixture of frustration and resignation. Dragonbane blinks slowly up at him, and Dorian steps back, letting the dog into his room. “Very well, then,” he says, “if you're being so persistent.”

It's odd at first, having a dog in his quarters, but Dragonbane behaves exceptionally well – it quietly sits beside Dorian's bed, and doesn't judge or expect anything of him. It just – is, lets Dorian get used to its presence, and looks at him with understanding in its eyes. And when Dorian finally slides down on the floor beside it, with his back against the bed, Dragonbane lies down on its belly and presses its side against Dorian's leg.

That small, simple contact is all the comfort Dorian didn't realise he needed, and it's then that he begins to truly understand why Fereldans are so fond of their mabaris. Dorian lowers his hand on Dragonbane's back, lets it rest there, rise and fall in the rhythm of the dog's breathing. “I suppose,” he admits, after a while, “that you are, after all, as smart as people give you credit for.”

“Woof,” says Dragonbane, and wags its ridiculous tail.

xXx

They were supposed to fuck that night. Dorian homed in on Bull's room for that specific purpose, as Bull had earlier offered a distraction from what keeps gnawing at Dorian's mind.

But when Dorian arrived, Dragonbane was in the room too, which is why now Dorian finds himself sitting on Bull's bed – not naked, not tied up and thoroughly fucked, like he anticipated, but fully clothed still and leaning against the headboard. Bull himself is kneeling on the floor beside Dragonbane, who whines a little as Bull runs his hands along the mabari's back and sides, murmuring soothingly in a low voice.

“What's with him?” Dorian asks. He would be irritated at the mabari for interfering with their plans, but the dog really does look unwell; he's made himself as flat as he can by Bull's feet, and keeps glancing around furtively, whining quietly.

“We were at the training yard today,” Bull explains. “Few mages were training there too, and one of them threw some horror spell. Didn't aim at anyone with it, but this guy was asleep nearby. Got hit pretty hard.”

“Ah, yes,” Dorian says. “The effects of horror spells are amplified if they hit a sleeping target. That's when the mental defences are at their weakest.”

“Good to know,” Bull growls. He isn't angry, per se, Dorian can tell, but it's in moments like these when Bull's wariness of magic leaps up, and Dorian knows how he hates feeling useless when one of his own needs help he cannot give.

Fortunately, _one_ of them is an expert of horror.

“All right,” Dorian says. “Come here. Both of you.”

He has to repeat his words, because at first Bull looks at him like he grew a second head or three pairs of arms, but eventually Dorian settles between Bull's legs, back comfortably against his chest. Dragonbane rests his head on Dorian's lap, and Dorian scratches him behind his ear. “Hold on,” he says soothingly, whether to Bull or the dog he isn't sure, but it seems to work on both. “I'm going to dispel it.”

The challenge of dispelling a spell depends mainly on two things: how powerful the caster is, and how powerful the one to dispel is. In this case, there is not much challenge at all; the mage who cast the spell is a southern circle mage who isn't in the slightest familiar with the Entropy school – Dorian can feel it in the clumsy way the horror spell is woven as he reaches for it. Dorian, however, is rather well-versed in Entropy and Spirit magic both, even if he says so himself, and so locating the root of the horror spell in Dragonbane's mind is child's play to him. He disentangles the fear, gently tugging it away, and threads it back into the Veil. It takes only moments, and Dorian knows it worked when Dragonbane's ridiculous little tail begins wagging and the mabari lifts his head from Dorian's lap to give a cheerful bark.

“There you go,” Dorian says, rather smugly.

Bull laughs with audible relief and reaches to pet the dog on the head, while his other hand lands gently on Dorian's arm. “That's pretty impressive, kadan,” he says, and then adds, dropping his voice, “Also kind of hot, you commanding all that magic that others struggle with.”

“Well. What can I say, I _am_ top class,” Dorian replies, not quite as modestly as he almost intended, and absently pats Dragonbane on the head, beside Bull's hand. “What was that word you said?”

“Nah, just Qunlat, fitted the situation. You gonna stay?”

Dorian looks down on his lap, where Dragonbane has again lowered his head, eyes falling shut. Sex is definitely out of the question now, and Dorian's never stayed the night – or even entered Bull's room – without having it as an excuse. But he wants to, stay, and Bull did offer it first. Besides, Dorian has a lap full of dog, so it's not like he could just roll off the bed and go.

“Seems like it,” he says and settles more comfortably against Bull's chest.

“Good,” Bull replies, and then chuckles.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just remembered some prickly mage once declaring he'd never share a bed with a dog.”

“This is but a temporary arrangement, I assure you,” Dorian utters, but without edge. Bull's arms are so very warm around him, and he's entirely too comfortable and getting drowsy, and he thinks, _yes, this is good_.

Dragonbane seems to be already dozing, but when Dorian lightly scratches behind his ear, he raises his head. “Woof,” he says, and drools on Dorian's robes.

Dorian can't quite bring himself to care.

X


End file.
